The Tether

She ran to the elevator. It was locked.

"Down," she screamed, slamming her hand against the panel. She shorted the circuit with a spark of raw mana. The doors slid open.

She descended.

When the doors opened to the Vault, the air was dazzling.

The room was filled with golden mist. In the center, on the pedestal, Julian was on his knees.

He was half-turned. His legs were solid gold, fused to the floor. The gold had crept up his torso, consuming his left arm, his neck. Only his face and his right arm remained flesh, and even they were taking on a metallic sheen.

He couldn't speak. His lungs were heavy. He looked at her with eyes that were rapidly turning into topaz.

* Run,* his eyes pleaded.

Maren ran to him. The magical pressure in the room was immense, pushing her back, trying to turn her blood to mercury.

"I am not leaving," Maren gasped, falling to her knees in front of him.

She grabbed his human hand. It was cold. So cold.

"I can't stop it," she wept. "I'm too small."

She looked at the gold consuming him. It was a burden of infinite weight. One soul couldn't carry it.

But maybe two could.

Maren drew a small paring knife from her pocket—her garden knife.

"The Tether," she whispered. It was a forbidden ritual. A binding of life forces. Usually used for twins, or dying mothers trying to save a babe.

She sliced her own palm, deep and diagonal. Blood welled up, red and honest.

She took Julian’s flesh hand. She sliced his palm. Gold sap oozed out.

She pressed their hands together, weaving her fingers through his.

"I accept the debt," Maren incanted, her voice shaking the golden air. "I accept the weight. What is yours is mine. What is mine is yours. Share the rot."

She poured her magic into the cut. Not to heal him, but to connect them.

The reaction was violent.

A shockwave of light blasted through the Vault. Maren screamed as the curse surged into her body. It felt like swallowing molten lead. It burned through her veins, seeking her heart.

But as the gold rushed into her, it receded from him.

The gold on Julian’s neck cracked and fell away like dried mud, revealing pink, raw skin underneath. His lungs cleared. He gasped, a massive, heaving breath of air.

The gold on his legs softened, turning back into flesh.

But Maren’s arm, the one holding his, began to shine. Her skin hardened. Her veins glittered.

"Maren!" Julian shouted, his voice rough. He tried to pull away, but she held tight.

"Hold on!" she cried. "We have to balance it!"

They knelt there, hands clasped, trembling as the curse sought equilibrium. It flowed back and forth, a tide of agony and wealth, until finally, it settled.